p. It is painted
red, and gives a lot of amusement to the wounded. The trains are very
long, and my small carriage is useful for cups and basins, bread, soup,
coffee, etc. Clemmie Waring designed and sent it to me.

To-day I was giving out my soup on the train and three shells came in in
quick succession. One came just over my head and lodged in a haystall on
the other side of the platform. The wall of the store has an enormous
hole in it, but the thickly packed hay prevented the shrapnel
scattering. The station-master was hit, and his watch saved him, but it
was crumpled up like a rag. Two men were wounded, and one of them died.
A whole crowd of refugees came in from Coxide, which is being heavily
shelled. There was not a scrap of food for them, so I made soup in great
quantities, and distributed it to them in a crowded room whose
atmosphere was thick. Ladling out the soup is great fun.

_12 December._--The days are very short now, and darkness falls early.
All the streets are dark, so are the houses, so is the station. Two
candles are a rare treat, and oil is difficult to get.

Such a nice boy died to-night. We brought him to the hospital from the
station, and learned that he had lain for eight days wounded and
untended. Strangely enough he was naked, and had only a blanket over him
on the stretcher. I do not know why he was still alive. Everything was
done for him that could be done, but as I passed through one of the
wards this evening the nurses were doing their last kindly duty to him.
Poor fellow! He was one of those who had "given even their names." No
one knew who he was. He had a woman's portrait tattooed on his breast.

_19 December._--Not much to record this week. The days have become more
stereotyped, and their variety consists in the number of wounded who
come in. One day we had 280 extra men to feed--a batch of soldiers
returning hungry to the trenches, and some refugees. So far we have
never refused anyone a cup of soup; or coffee and bread.

I haven't been fit lately, and get fearful bad headaches. I go to the
station at 10 a.m. every morning, and work till 1 o'clock. Then to the
hospital for lunch. I like the staff there very much. The surgeons are
not only skilful, but they are men of education. We all get on well
together, in spite of that curious form of temper which war always seems
to bring. No one is affable here, except those who have just come out
from home, and it is quite common to hear a